


Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys

by breed (weatherby)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-09
Updated: 2009-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-04 07:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatherby/pseuds/breed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry becomes the Secret Keeper for the Malfoys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys

**Author's Note:**

> This was written before Deathly Hallows was released. Thanks to Aja for betaing, and for the ridiculous title, and for being the McManus to my Fenster. I dedicate this swan song to you.

Harry receives more letters at the Hog's Head than he's ever received in his life. Even Mrs Weasley sends one, a pleading missive in her seven-year-old scrawl for him to come to the Burrow. No, he wants to write. It's almost Christmas. Instead, he tells them all a shadow of the truth: it's too dangerous. Amos Diggory lived in Ottery St Catchpole until he was killed a week ago. Harry is the last person who should be in that village.

Harry's room is on the northern side of the pub, and this is the only way he manages to avoid looking at Hogwarts, cold and grey and empty in the distance. The barman did not even ask his preference before putting him here.

Hogsmeade is like a ghost town in an old Western movie, boards over the windows and dust collecting on the tables in the Hog's Head. Harry's room is one of only three occupied, and even that seems like a lot. Sometimes in the evenings, Harry sits down in the pub alone, nursing a butterbeer while the crooked-nosed bartender rinses out glasses that no one has used. Harry does not go to the Three Broomsticks.

Christmas comes, and with it a large parcel from the Burrow. Mrs Weasley has knit him a plain jumper this year, a brilliant violet with no dragons or initials. There are cakes and treacle tart, and a box of U-No-Poo from Fred and George. Ron sends a suspiciously familiar gold chain that now reads, "WHY TERSE MATE." Harry laughs and wonders what Ron will do if he actually wears it. Hermione sends a book that calls him several obscene names when he tries to have a look at the title, and he puts it aside. Fleur's little sister, Gabrielle, has sent him a Christmas cracker. A gaudy, spangled hat bursts out when Harry pops it. It is pink, covered in shiny gold stars that glow like Muggle Christmas lights. Harry idly puts it on his head for a bit of cheer. He decides that the chain might be a bit much.

Ginny sends nothing.

\-----

Harry forgets that the barman must have a life outside of the Hog's Head. He is surprised to find that no one is in the pub when he goes down for tea that afternoon. He sits at a table for a full ten minutes before he decides that the barman must have a family that he has gone home to. Harry finds tinned ham and potatoes in the larder and takes them up to his room. Between the ham and his hat, he is sure that this is the most festive Christmas this room has ever seen.

He is finishing his potatoes when he hears the scream.

He is on his feet with his wand out before he has even finished swallowing his last mouthful. He darts into the corridor, winding his way around the Hog's Head for a good three minutes before he finds a door with sounds behind it--muffled gasps that Harry recognises as the sound of someone trying not to cry out in pain. He blasts the door open and all of his speed is for nothing, because he cannot even begin to think what to do.

Draco Malfoy and his mother are the first things he registers, and then the blood and the knife. Malfoy is whiter than a ghost and covered in blood, and Mrs Malfoy is standing over him with a knife. Harry wavers between attacking Mrs Malfoy and leaving.

"Shut the door!" Malfoy screeches, and Harry closes it behind him without thinking.

"Get out!" Mrs Malfoy's eyes are gleaming and there is blood on her hands.

Harry points his wand at her throat. "How - he's your son!"

Mrs Malfoy bursts into tears just as the door opens again. There is a strong stench of goats, and the barman pushes past Harry. He does not even seem to notice that Harry is holding his wand and Mrs Malfoy is holding a bloodied knife.

"He's losing a lot of blood," says the barman, and Harry realises that this is the first time he's heard him speak. Mrs Malfoy crumples to the floor, sobbing miserably. She drops the knife next to something white and bloody.

"Here, I can fix it," Harry says shakily, moving closer to Malfoy, who is balled at the foot of the bed.

"No!" the barman says harshly. "No magic."

Harry sputters. "Are you crazy? He'll die! She did it! She's still holding the knife! We have to tie her up, we have to contact the Aurors, we have to -"

The barman moves to the head of the bed and tears a strip off of the sheet. He begins wrapping it around Malfoy's left arm, and it is only then that Harry realises where all the blood is coming from.

"Nothing else worked," Mrs Malfoy says, and she looks up at Harry like it's his fault. "We tried every charm. It just wouldn't come off."

"Here, boy, curl your hand into a fist," the barman is telling Malfoy.

Harry looks at the pale thing on the floor next to Mrs Malfoy. It is long and rubbery and looks like a crumpled rag. When Harry tilts his head, he can see that it is covered with the black outline of a skull and a snake.

Harry joins Mrs Malfoy on the floor and fights the urge to throw up.

\-----

"I've bandaged it the best I can," the barman says, half an hour later. Harry and Mrs Malfoy have been sitting in the corridor, Mrs Malfoy sniffling and Harry pretending not to hear. "That was foolish, Narcissa. He could've been killed."

"It was Draco's idea!" Mrs Malfoy says. "I don't pretend to understand how the Dark Mark works, but we couldn't remove it with magic."

"So you CUT OFF HIS SKIN?!" Harry shouts, looking at her for the first time since he saw Malfoy's skin on the floor.

"You should have come to me," the barman says, ignoring Harry. "My hands would have been steadier. You might have cut into the muscle, a vein -"

"What?" Harry stares at the barman. "You're acting like this was a good idea!"

"It's a horrible idea, Potter," the barman says. "No one but Voldemort knows how the Dark Mark was made. It isn't the first time that someone's found himself wanting it off, I'll tell you that much. Voldemort can find any of his followers as long as they have that Dark Mark on their skin. Handy, eh? You'll find no spell to remove it. It's not the most drastic thing you could do to be rid of it. One wizard tried to cut his own arm off once. Pretty messy."

"But why can't you heal his arm with magic?" says Harry. "I saw - I mean, I've seen people heal big wounds like that before."

"Because it would come back, you fool," says Mrs Malfoy. "Magic would just put the skin back the way it was, and all of this would be for nothing. No, it has to heal the old-fashioned way." With this, she let loose a fresh stream of tears. "I don't see why you mind. Don't think for a second that I don't know about what you did to my son last year."

Harry feels sick all over again. "That was an accident."

"I'll keep an eye on him for a bit," says the barman.

"Thank you, Abe," Mrs Malfoy says, not looking at him.

"Come on, Potter," the barman, or Abe, says. "You'll want to finish that food you nicked from the larder. Nice hat, by the way."

\-----

Harry tries to pretend that the Malfoys aren't at the Hog's Head. He doesn't like Malfoy, and he thinks he might hate Narcissa Malfoy almost as much as he hates her son. She is Bellatrix Lestrange's sister, Sirius's cousin, and Harry is sure that she knows where Lestrange is hiding. Part of him wishes that he still had the Half-Blood Prince's old book so he could slip a bit of Veritaserum into Mrs Malfoy's mead. Then he remembers just who was writing those instructions in that book, and he never wants to make another potion again.

Still, Harry can't help feeling some sort of pity for Malfoy. He has had enough injuries to know that the healing is the worst, and that was always with the assistance of magic. He cannot imagine having a big chunk of his skin sliced off and healed without even the benefit of stitches.

After the familiar way the barman addressed Mrs Malfoy, Harry can no longer enjoy sitting in the pub in silence while the old man works behind the bar. Whether the Malfoys are trying to get rid of the Dark Mark or not, no one who is on close terms with them can be particularly good news. Especially not one who seems to know so much about people who have tried to get rid of the Dark Mark.

Harry sticks to his room more than he has before, poring over endless maps, looking for Godric's Hollow. Hagrid, he knows, would tell him exactly where Godric's Hollow is, but Hagrid is at Hogwarts. Harry hasn't even written to Hagrid in fear of getting a tear-stained memory of Dumbledore in reply.

Two days after Christmas, Abe goes to visit his goats and tells Harry to change Malfoy's bandages at lunch.

"Now that you've involved yourself in this, you might as well be of some use," he adds pointedly.

Harry resists the urge to point out that Malfoy's scream might have got everyone in Hogsmeade involved, had there been anyone in Hogsmeade.

Malfoy is still paler than usual, tucked neatly into bed with his bandaged arm annoyingly reminiscent of the time he tried to have Buckbeak killed. He is pretending to be asleep, watching Harry out of eyes that aren't slitted nearly enough to look closed.

"Where's your mother?" Harry asks curtly, unrolling a bandage. "I know you're awake, Malfoy."

"That's none of your business, Potter," Malfoy says. His voice is flat and missing its characteristic drawl.

"It's my business to know why I have to do this when she could be doing it instead. Is she visiting some of your dad's old friends?"

"She's at tea with someone," says Malfoy, and Harry knows that this is all he will get out of him. "Where's your queer hat?"

Harry ignores this, and instead tries to figure out how he will unwrap Malfoy's arm without making a horrible mistake that will do something worse to Malfoy's wound. He picks up Malfoy's arm by the wrist. His skin feels hot and feverish even this far down on his arm. Harry wonders if this is a good or a bad thing. He finds the end of the bandage and begins carefully unwrapping it, trying not to get his hands anywhere near where the wound must be.

Malfoy's eyes are clenched shut now, and he is shaking.

"Why were you trying to get rid of the Dark Mark?" Harry asks, sensing that Malfoy ought to be distracted. "I thought you were proud to be a part of your new group."

"You don't know anything," Malfoy says, his voice clipped and strained.

"Wasn't all you thought it would be, was it?"

"Right, because I'm going to confide in you about my life."

Harry gets the last of the bandage off and draws in a sharp breath. The wound is huge, bloody and pink and yellow and taking up half of Malfoy's forearm. The skin around it is purple, and it looks like Malfoy should be dead from it. No one should have a wound like this and still be having a terse argument. Harry thinks he might be ill.

"Keep talking, Potter!" Malfoy says it a little desperately, and Harry quickly grabs the new bandage.

"Why didn't you listen to Dumbledore when he gave you the chance?" he says. "You could have got out then." He starts wrapping the bandage loosely, picturing all too well what the fabric must feel like against that open wound, then wonders if it's too loose.

"And how would you know about that?"

Harry wraps more tightly as he gets to a second layer. "I just know. I know you couldn't do what you were supposed to do. I bet You-Know-Who's not pleased about that." He does not say Voldemort's name, because if Malfoy flinches while Harry's hands are on his arm, it could mean a world of trouble.

"Drop dead."

Harry tucks the end of the fabric into the bandage and puts Malfoy's arm back at his side. He picks up the old, bloodied bandage and drops it in the dustbin. Malfoy finally opens his eyes and looks at Harry with complete hatred.

"I knew someone else was there," he says. "There were two brooms. Where were you, under your Invisibility Cloak? I suppose you think it's funny that I couldn't even kill an old man."

"No, Malfoy," says Harry. "I don't think it's funny at all."

\-----

Ron and Hermione come to the Hog's Head on New Year's Day, and the place seems ten times more alive. Crookshanks immediately takes to roaming the corridors as if he owns them. That night in Hermione's room, Harry fills them in on Malfoy and his mother. He resists the urge to point out that he was right about Malfoy's left arm all along.

"So he did have the Dark Mark," Ron says, looking a little guilty.

"Yes, he did," Hermione says. "They aren't using any magic at all? Harry, that's really dangerous. Muggles use antibiotics and stitches, and they can drain the fluid. Malfoy's arm could easily become infected if they're not doing anything for it."

"They might be giving him potions," says Harry. "I don't know what they're doing exactly. I'm trying to avoid them."

"I can't believe Malfoy cut off a bit of his arm," Ron says.

"Aren't you interested to find out why?" Hermione asks. "Does it mean they've switched sides? I know Malfoy's always been full of his Pureblood rubbish, but maybe now he's seen what Voldemort really does, he's not interested in it anymore. There's a world of difference between bigotry and murder. I wouldn't be surprised if it all got a little too real for him."

"I seriously doubt that," says Ron. "He's probably just trying to save his own skin."

"He's done a good job of it, then," Hermione says darkly.

"Oh. Right."

"I don't think they're switching sides," Harry says. "Dumbledore offered to let the Order protect them and Malfoy didn't take him up on it."

"Well, I can't imagine they pose any threat, in any case," Hermione says. "Harry, did you read the book I sent you?"

"Er." Harry is not sure where the book is now. "It started calling me a stupid cu-"

Hermione's face flushes. "Yes, well, I couldn't get the curse off of it. It's about Horcruxes, Harry. You wouldn't believe what I had to go through to get it. It's a really Dark book; you'd never even find it in the Restricted Section."

Harry is filled with admiration for Hermione.

"So where did you get it?" Ron asks a little incredulously.

"Knockturn Alley," Hermione says, as though this is the most normal thing in the world. "I thought of writing to Professor Slughorn, Harry. He must have read something on them to give so much information to Voldemort. I expect he wouldn't have been too pleased to find out that I knew about his memory, though, and then he'd be useless. Knockturn Alley seemed a bit dangerous, but where else could I have gone? Of course, everyone I asked pretended they didn't know what Horcruxes were, so that posed a bit of a problem. They seemed to think I was setting them up. I had to look for someone shady enough to admit that they actually knew what I was talking about, and then -"

"All right, Hermione," Ron says. "I'm sorry I asked, are you happy?"

"Do you think it will be any help?" Harry asks.

"Well, it can't hurt," she says. "It always helps to have more information."

\-----

When Lupin and Tonks arrive a week later, the barman shows them to Harry's room and makes a remark about the Christmas rush. Harry ignores him. He was not expecting Lupin or Tonks, and is eager to find out if they have come with information about Godric's Hollow.

"No, Harry," Lupin says with a sad smile. "I've never been to Godric's Hollow. Your parents didn't live there until Peter became their Secret Keeper, and I was never told where they were. There's no breaking the Fidelius Charm. I believe Hagrid is the only living person who could still tell you where it is, simply because he never went there with James and Lily in mind. He only ever went there for you. You should ask him."

"Maybe," Harry says, feeling slightly guilty. "Why are you here, then?"

"What, are you that disappointed to see us?" asks Tonks, whose hair is a vivid sky blue today.

"Actually, we're here for matters slightly related," says Lupin. "It's about Grimmauld Place."

"Oh," says Harry. "What about it?"

"We were hoping you'd be kind enough to lend us the use of it," Lupin says.

"Sure," says Harry. "I already said the Order could have it. I don't really want it."

"We were thinking of using it for different purposes." Lupin sits on the bed and folds his hands. "Harry, the Order has agreed to help Draco and his mother go into hiding. As Grimmauld Place is one of the few Unplottable places we've got access -"

"No," Harry says. "They can't go there."

Lupin smiles. "I thought you'd say that."

"How could you even suggest it? Wasn't Mrs Malfoy the one who was giving Kreacher instructions the whole time? She'd probably invite Bellatrix Lestrange in! How can you trust her?"

"She wants to protect her son. That's one thing you can trust as the truth from any mother."

"No way," Harry says flatly. "They can't go in Sirius's house."

"That's what I said," Tonks says. "That place has enough bad blood as it is." She winks.

"Since Grimmauld Place isn't an option, I thought perhaps you could help us with something else," says Lupin. "Although my own home isn't quite as large, it will do for our purposes. Since it is plottable, the Fidelius Charm is our only other choice. In fact, in my mind it's the safer option. I hoped you would consent to be the Secret Keeper."

"Me? Why?" Harry immediately thinks of at least twelve people who would be better suited to this than him.

"As head of the Order, Dumbledore was always the Secret Keeper for Grimmauld Place," Lupin says. "We now find ourselves without a head to the Order, and you're the closest thing we have to that, Harry. Now, my house would never do for the Order's headquarters. It's far too draughty, for one thing. Essentially, you'd be the Secret Keeper for the Malfoys."

Harry almost laughs. "Do they know this?"

"Of course," Tonks says. "Who's less likely to be their Secret Keeper than you? I'm not saying they were thrilled with the idea, mind."

Harry considers this, and consents that it is a valid point. He certainly isn't thrilled with the idea, either, but he thinks of Lupin or Tonks or Mr Weasley guarding the secret, and what Voldemort might do to them if he found out. "What would we have to do?"

"First, the Malfoys have to die," Lupin says grimly. "We fake their deaths, and then we perform the Fidelius Charm. It's a complicated bit of magic, but I'll have to be the one performing it, since I'm the best we've got. Afterwards, only you will know where the Malfoys are, unless you choose to tell anyone. Not even the Malfoys will be able to tell anyone. Of course, they'll be free to leave any time they want, but they won't be able to bring anyone over with them. I hope you'll tell me, as I would like to be able to return home now and again. You may also want to inform a few members of the Order for convenience's sake, though by no means do you need to tell everyone, nor should you. This would be best left kept among a very few people."

"Don't tell me," says Tonks. "You know how clumsy I am. I'll end up blurting the whole thing out."

"But don't you already know?" asks Harry. "I mean, we're talking about it right now."

"Once the charm is performed, she won't remember at all," says Lupin.

Harry finds this idea vaguely horrifying, and wonders how Tonks can so calmly discuss something that will go missing from her memory later. "Don't you mind?"

"Eh, Remus never spends much time at home, anyway," Tonks says. "I won't miss the place. It's not well kept."

"I was never much of a housekeeper," Lupin admits. "What do you think, Harry?"

So Harry agrees to become the Secret Keeper for the Malfoys.

\-----

Draco Malfoy dies the next day during an attack on an unnamed Muggle-born living in Edinburgh. It is widely believed by the Daily Prophet and its readers that though he was only seventeen, Malfoy may have become a Death Eater before his untimely death. His mother, Narcissa Malfoy, kills herself the day after. Somehow, there seems to be sympathy for her. A dead son and a husband in Azkaban cannot have been easy to deal with.

Lupin's house is, indeed, unkempt and draughty. There are several crooked bookshelves in the sitting room, the books and shelves covered in a fine layer of dust broken by the occasional fingerprint. The candles in the chandelier are melted down almost completely. There are very few dishes in the kitchen cabinets, and all of the fireplaces seem unused. The house is about the size of the Dursleys', but looks more like the Shrieking Shack.

"Great," drawls Malfoy. "I'd wondered if it was possible to sink any lower than the Hog's Head. Now I know."

"Is there even a house-elf?" Mrs Malfoy asks, staring at the chandelier in the sitting room. Harry tries to imagine her prying the candles out of it. "I suppose it could be made a bit better once there are fires and candles. Draco, you ought to be in bed. If there even is a bed."

"There are a couple," says Harry, irritated. "Maybe you could stop complaining long enough to look."

Malfoy starts to walk up the stairs, then stops, holding onto the railing. "Are the stairs going to collapse under me? They don't seem very stable."

"Well, I guess I'll be going," says Harry, choosing to ignore that. "Have a nice time."

"Going?" says Mrs Malfoy. "But you can't go. You'll stay right here and clean this rat's nest, young man."

"You have a wand, don't you?"

"Mother, I need a fire," Malfoy calls from upstairs. "And some cocoa."

"You'll stay and assist me in cleaning this rat's nest," Mrs Malfoy corrects herself.

Harry sighs and hangs his cloak on a hook by the door. Ron and Hermione have gone home, and the idea of the Hog's Head seems much lonelier than it did before they ever arrived.

All told, it takes Harry ten minutes to clean the downstairs of Lupin's house. He has cleaned all of his life, and magic makes things a lot easier. He even manages to replace the candles in the hanging lamps with a well-placed refilling spell aimed at the wax. He is sure that a couple of them look less than solid, but when he lights them, they all work fine. There is nothing to be done about the lack of dishes and food in the kitchen, but he decides that Lupin can take care of that upon his return. He feels more active than he has in weeks, which he feels is a bit sad, given that all he's done is freshen up a house.

When he is done, he goes upstairs to find that Mrs Malfoy has not even managed to clean one of the windows. He can only hope that she will not burn the house down in his absence.

\-----

Harry manages to avoid the Malfoys for a fortnight before he admits to himself that he ought to return to Lupin's house and check on them. The idea that the Malfoys are his responsibility is somehow loathsome and funny at the same time. There is something deeply satisfying in knowing that Malfoy has wound up in this position, hiding and relying on Harry and Lupin to bring him food. On the other hand, his arm is still healing and Harry doesn't think that he's faking the pain it seems to cause him.

Mrs Malfoy has not burnt the house down, but she does not seem to have bothered cleaning the upstairs rooms that she and Draco do not use. There are long brown hairs all over the floor of one of them, and what Harry strongly suspects is a clawmark in the wall. He remembers how frightened of werewolves Malfoy seems to be and is pleased by this frightening decor.

"I want you to tell Pansy Parkinson where I am," Malfoy says immediately when Harry steps into the room he has taken over. Taken over is perhaps saying a bit much, since Malfoy does not seem to have gone anywhere but the bed, but the room has a distinctly Malfoy air about it. Perhaps that is just Mrs Malfoy's inability to launder sheets.

"No," says Harry.

"Why not?"

The bandage on Malfoy's arm is blood-stained even now, long after the injury, and Harry suspects that Mrs Malfoy does not know the first thing about bandages. Nor, for that matter, does Harry, but he thinks he might be less of a priss than Mrs Malfoy.

"Because you're supposed to be dead," Harry says. "What part of 'secret' did you miss? It doesn't mean I tell anyone you want. How do you know you can trust her?"

"I'm bored," Malfoy says with a scowl. "And when I finally get a visitor, it's you or stupid Lupin. What a pleasure. It's not like she'd be able to tell anyone. You're the Secret Keeper. No one can tell but you."

Harry takes a bandage from a large pile that is heaped upon a little table by the window. "She can tell everyone you're alive."

Malfoy says nothing while Harry unwraps his arm. It doesn't look to Harry like the wound has healed at all. It seems like it will start flowing with blood at any minute, but it doesn't.

"You know, Muggles use skin grafts on stuff like this," Harry says.

"And what, exactly, is that?" says Malfoy, who is looking in the other direction.

"They take skin from somewhere else and attach it to the wound," says Harry.

"So then you have a second wound. That sounds helpful. Unless you're suggesting I get the skin from someone else."

"Well, I don't really know how it works." He wraps the new bandage around Malfoy's arm more tightly this time than the last. "What do you know about Ravenclaw?"

"Mandy Brocklehurst tried to kiss me in second year," Malfoy says. "And Anthony Goldstein knows how to speak Mermish."

"I mean the house, not the people in it. Did Ravenclaw own anything famous?"

"How should I know?" Malfoy tucks his arm under his blankets. "I wasn't Sorted into Ravenclaw. Why are you asking? Why are you making conversation with me? What do you want?"

"You said you were bored," says Harry, but truth be told, he is bored. The only person who has come to the Hog's Head in the last fortnight has been a witch called Madam Marsh, who came in looking rather queasy and left looking rather miffed. Hedwig goes on hunts more often than not, and even when she is there, she does not make for very good conversation.

"Yeah, well, I'd rather be bored than have you give me an exam on what I know about Ravenclaw. How long am I going to be here?"

Harry stares. "What do you think this is? A holiday?"

"Well, I can't be here for the rest of my life," Malfoy says. "I have things to do."

Harry narrows his eyes. "Like what?"

"Like leaving this house, for one thing. If I stay here much longer, I'll probably go mad and start reading books. You don't know what it's like, Potter. You get to be the warden."

It's only the memory of Dumbledore's treatment of Malfoy that keeps Harry from shouting. "This isn't jail. You're here because the Order is protecting you. If Voldemort finds you, he'll kill you."

"Everyone thinks I'm dead anyway! What's the point in making sure I stay alive if the whole world thinks I died? So I get to sit in this rat's nest all day. Big deal! None of my things are here, I can't see any of my friends -"

"Shut up," Harry says, because if he says anything else it will probably be to insult Malfoy's friends, to remind him that the only friend he seemed to have last year was Moaning Myrtle. He does not think that even Malfoy deserves to be reminded of crying in the toilet with a ghost.

"And my arm hurts."

This is the first time that Malfoy has directly mentioned his arm. Harry has wondered how long Malfoy would go on pretending that it wasn't there. He considers telling Malfoy that it is his own fault. He considers offering to get some of Malfoy's things, but reckons that he would feel very stupid if that turned out to be a trap. He considers stomping on Malfoy's face.

Instead, he Apparates back to Hogsmeade.

\-----

Ron and Hermione don't know about the Malfoys, so when someone is attacked in Wiltshire, Ron only mentions it in passing at the end of a letter a week after the attack occurs. Harry can't think of a way to ask for more information about this single attack out of dozens without sounding a bit off. He does not know where in Wiltshire the Malfoys are from, but it is probably close enough.

"He knows we're alive," says Mrs Malfoy, twisting a ring around her finger. "This plan was never going to work."

"Maybe it was a coincidence," says Harry.

Malfoy is out of bed for once, sitting at the kitchen table and staring blankly at his empty cocoa cup. The skin under his eyes looks grey and bruised and he needs a haircut. He has not said a word since Harry has arrived.

"A coincidence," Mrs Malfoy snorts. "The only thing standing between my son and the Dark Lord is a seventeen-year-old boy. Of course you want it to be a coincidence. If he finds out that you're our Secret Keeper, he'll kill you."

Harry thinks that this is a bit much. He keeps himself from pointing out that Voldemort wants to kill him a lot more than he wants to kill the Malfoys, and it's certainly not because he's their Secret Keeper. "He's not going to find out. You don't know if he even knows you're alive."

"I wish Severus would come for us," she says. "Now there's a real wizard for you. He was the only person I could turn to, and look at how beautifully -"

"SHUT UP!" Harry stands up and shoves his chair into the table with a bang. "Snape is a coward. He'd offer you up to Voldemort himself if it would save his skin. I bet he'd love to find your precious Draco just to get in closer. Voldemort's really just looking for him, isn't he? He doesn't need anything from you."

"Don't you dare talk to my mother that way," Malfoy says, but it comes out rather pathetically.

Mrs Malfoy doesn't argue, and Harry feels a heady rush of triumph. She knows he's right.

\-----

Harry starts six different letters to Ginny. How's your Christmas? seems too casual. I'm not sure I'll make it through this year seems a bit melodramatic. He knows he will not send any, because he might put her stupid life in danger. He is beginning to forget the exact pattern of the freckles on the back of her neck. He wonders if she writes to Dean Thomas.

Hermione thinks he's hiding something. Her letters are full of inquiries far from subtle. If there's anything going on, you'll tell me, won't you? I'd hate to think you'd try to keep me out of it because you think I can't take care of myself. She wants to know if he's made it through the book on Horcruxes. He has made it through the first two chapters, and he has learned nothing new. There is no chapter about where you might begin looking for them. He asks her to look for a detailed biography of Rowena Ravenclaw, though he knows he will likely regret this when he receives a 700 page tome in response.

If the Malfoys have noticed his pre-occupation, they have said nothing, and they don't seem the type to say nothing. Mrs Malfoy takes to painting dreadful watercolours and murmuring that she's practically a widow.

"That's quite interesting," Lupin says when she shows him her latest self-portrait. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

Harry has to duck into the next room to avoid laughing. It's the same question Mrs Figg used to ask Dudley when he showed off his fingerpaintings.

\-----

"Who's that you're writing to all the time?" Malfoy asks.

"Are you avoiding Voldemort because you've changed your mind about killing people, or just because you don't want him to kill you?" Harry asks.

Malfoy returns to his bed.

\-----

Lupin helps him make a few enhancements on the trees surrounding his small garden, and Harry is able to at least fly. He considers making the trip to Diagon Alley for a Golden Snitch to toss around, but thinks it might look in bad taste if someone in Diagon Alley caught him shopping for sporting supplies without a care in the world.

"Look, Harry, I know you're bored here," Lupin says. "You don't have to be here all the time. You can go back to the Hog's Head. Right, then, I suppose that's a bit depressing. You're welcome to stay with any of the members of the Order, of course -- Moody's got quite the elaborate set-up in his cottage that I think you'd find interesting."

"I don't want to stay with Moody," Harry says.

"I know why you're avoiding the Burrow, and I won't try to argue with you there. The Weasleys, bless them, are just too visible. Why not visit Hermione?"

"Hermione's Muggle-born!" Harry cannot believe that Lupin is suggesting this.

"She is, yes," Lupin says. "Her parents are also completely unknown to anyone in the wizarding world."

"Hermione isn't," Harry says fiercely. "Malfoy's told his dad all about her. He was jealous of her getting better marks than him. And all those Death Eaters saw her at the Ministry; they know I'm friends with her. They could've mentioned her to Voldemort a hundred times."

"I think you're turning yourself into more of a martyr than you need to be." Lupin adds a few more needles to one of the gigantic pine trees.

"I'm not trying to be a martyr," Harry says crossly. "I just don't want someone to die."

"Then might I suggest making it a bit more comfortable?"

So Harry goes to Diagon Alley after all. He expects it to be a ghost town like Hogsmeade, but it's still got a fair bustle of people, despite the increased number of boarded up shops. He visits Gringotts, and notices the goblins seem particularly sour today. He buys a Golden Snitch. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, he is pleased to see, is still flourishing.

"I hope you don't mind," Fred says, gesturing to a display of stick-on lightning bolt scars. "They sell really well."

"By all means," Harry says, but declines when Fred offers him one free of charge.

He spends nearly an hour in Flourish and Blotts, drawing irritated coughs from the wizard behind the desk as he puts back book after book. He finally settles on a tiny book the size of his little finger titled The Hogwarts Founders, a History and a slim volume on healing with minimal magic. He suspects the book is geared towards Squibs.

Malfoy is not impressed with the book. He begins addressing Harry as Madam Potfrey.

\-----

Mrs Malfoy hangs her creepy self-portraits all over the dining room. The walls are covered with botched versions of her pinched visage, staring down at anyone who considers eating there. She does always manage to capture her nose, which gives the impression that any food served there must smell really awful. Harry usually eats in the room he's taken over as his own, anyway; he has no idea what the Malfoys do for food, or if they even eat at all. He expects that they have never prepared their own food, and probably don't even know how to take carrots out of a sack.

Percy Weasley sends Harry a letter, and he has to read it twice before he's convinced it's not a joke. Percy is trying to reason with him, as an 'old friend,' to do Rufus Scrimgeour a favour. I would consider it a personal favour to me, Percy writes, and Harry can picture Scrimgeour dictating to him from over his shoulder. He doesn't bother replying, and considers sending the letter to Ginny so she can have a laugh.

Hermione, as predicted, sends him a massive biography of Rowena Ravenclaw. Her owl collapses dramatically on the table after delivering it. It proves to be worthwhile, though: from what Harry has worked out, there are three known possessions of Ravenclaw's remaining. A pair of extremely uncomfortable looking boots, which are on display in The Museum of Magical History, a sapphire hair comb last owned by one of her descendents in the 1970's, and a painting of an extremely volatile knight, known to be on display at Hogwarts. The sapphire hair comb seems like the best bet, though Harry thinks it would be more clever of Voldemort to use the boots, which would be consistently protected and innocently hidden in the public eye. He feels sure that Sir Cadogan, though irrationally argumentative, is not a piece of Voldemort's soul.

"Getting to the boots would be really difficult," Hermione says thoughtfully, after Apparating to meet him at the Hog's Head. "There's bound to be all sorts of enchantments and charms on them to prevent you even touching them. I've been to the Museum of Magical History. Nothing's in cases because the curators are really good with keeping people from getting to the objects. They had the original handwritten draft of Hogwarts, a History! I would have loved to see if there was anything in there that was removed. Maybe the house-elves were a bit too unseemly for the editors."

"That's nice," Harry says hastily, "but what do you think about the comb?"

"Well, there's no record of what this woman did in life," she says. "Tabitha Abernathy, the name doesn't even sound a bit familiar. She doesn't seem to have died at the time this was written, so that's at least somewhat good news."

"Yeah, but Voldemort could have killed her by now," Harry says. "Looks like it would be perfect for him, wouldn't it? A descendent to kill and everything. It would make it more meaningful for him. It's perfect."

Hermione grimaces, and Harry feels a bit skeevy with his new understanding for the way Voldemort's mind works.

"Listen, Harry, I'll see what I can find, but if this woman didn't do anything remarkable, it's going to be a tough time."

"You found Eileen Prince," Harry points out, and she flushes but looks pleased.

"Well, I had the Hogwarts library then," she says. "Things are a bit more limited now. Besides, finding a record of Abernathy at Hogwarts wouldn't be helpful for this." Her eyes light up. "Oh, I've just thought -! Well, it's not entirely likely, but there's a good chance -"

"What?" Harry asks quickly. Hermione's habit of announcing something like this is usually followed by -

There's a loud crack as Hermione Apparates on the spot. Harry scowls. He has the distinct feeling that Hermione does this on purpose.

She returns half an hour later with a glass of gillywater. "Well, I've just spoken to Madam Rosmerta -"

"You couldn't have just told me that's where you're going?" Harry asks. "It's only down the street, we could have just walked over together!"

"I've just spoken to Madam Rosmerta," she repeats firmly, "and she does remember the name Abernathy, but she doesn't remember if it was a Tabitha. It was definitely a witch, and she used to come in once in awhile with some friends who wrote for The Daily Prophet. Including," she makes a face, "Rita Skeeter. If it's the same woman, she may have been a writer for the Prophet!"

"It's not such an odd name, though," Harry says.

"Well, I'm going to go see Rita Skeeter right away," Hermione says. "I'll send her an owl today and aim to meet her on Wednesday. You're welcome to join me."

"No," says Harry. "After that rubbish article she wrote for Dumbledore's funeral, I've had about as much of Rita Skeeter as I can stand."

"Well, she wasn't lying," Hermione says mildly. "You did look handsome in those robes."

\-----

Armed with this new possibility of a path to the next Horcrux, Harry is in slightly higher spirits when he returns to Lupin's place. The Malfoys, he finds, are playing a game of Exploding Snap. Harry is deeply weirded out by this, but as usual, they say nothing to him when he arrives, and don't seem to notice when he disappears into one of the unkempt rooms.

Just as a long shot, he writes to Mr Weasley to see if he's ever heard of this Tabitha Abernathy at the Ministry. He thinks he is fairly subtle in hinting that perhaps Mr Weasley could see if she's on record there for anything. That taken care of, he returns to the book on Horcruxes with only slight irritation. The book still calls him rude things, though it seems to have lost its sense of whimsy now and only half-heartedly pops out an insult every ten minutes or so.

Mrs Malfoy enters the room so suddenly that Harry drops the book on the floor. Roused by the experience, the book shouts enthusiastically at Mrs Malfoy.

"Draco is ill," she says, her voice shaking. "I don't know what to do. Please help."

Her succinct politeness is alarming. Harry follows her downstairs, where Malfoy is convulsing on the floor, vomit splattered on his robes. Harry grabs his shoulders in an effort to keep him still, but Malfoy cracks him in the ear with his elbow and Harry loses his balance.

"What happened?" Harry shouts, one hand over his ear, which has become very hot.

"He ate one of your chocolate frogs," Mrs Malfoy says. She is standing with her arms wrapped around her waist, looking rather helpless. "Then he got sick all over himself and fell on the floor."

"What chocolate frogs?" Harry asks. She hesitates. Malfoy's leg hits the table with a loud crack. "Quick!"

"They arrived with your owl," she says. "A late Christmas present, I assumed -"

"They're not mine," Harry says. He runs into the kitchen and digs through Lupin's meagre potion supplies. He swears loudly when he finds no bezoar. "I'll be back," he tells Mrs Malfoy as he runs through the dining room, and he Apparates with the distinct feeling that he may have left some part of himself behind.

Ron, who is in a state of undress, lets out a girlish yelp when Harry arrives, luckily intact and right on top of Pigwidgeon's cage.

"Blimey, Harry, you're supposed to Apparate outside and knock first!" Ron says, holding his robes in front of him. "Or at least in the hall! It's only polite!"

"Do you have a bezoar?" Harry asks.

"Never without one now," Ron says grimly. He opens a drawer, tosses out a pair of maroon trousers, and hands Harry a shrivelled looking thing. "Why do you -"

"Later!" Harry says, and he Apparates back to Lupin's.

"Are you mad? Where did you go?" Mrs Malfoy cries.

Harry ignores her and runs to Malfoy, who is now sweating buckets. He pushes Malfoy's head onto the floor roughly and shoves the bezoar into his mouth, jamming his jaw closed and nearly sticking a finger up his nose in the process. Malfoy gives a great last thrash before he goes still, splashing a bit of vomit on Harry's face.

"What have you done to him?" Mrs Malfoy asks. It seems that the action of Harry doing something has finally allowed her to move from her useless position. She runs to inspect Draco, leaning in close to his face. She is even whiter than usual.

"I gave him a bezoar," Harry says.

"This is all your fault," she says. "I knew we were stupid to let the wolf talk us into this. If you're getting poisoned sweets in the post, lord only knows what other dangers you have to offer us."

"What sort of git would eat something out of the post?"

"My son is not a git!"

"Well, you're not very bright either if you let him do it! You're lucky you have a Secret Keeper. If you didn't, you probably would have died weeks ago." Disgusted, Harry gets up and looks for a rag to wipe his face with. "He should get to bed, and there's probably at least three draughts he should be taking now. You can figure it out yourself." His face now clean, he leaves the house through ordinary means, though he does not slam the door behind him.

\-----

If Harry expected Malfoy to feel grateful for having his life saved, he was setting himself up for disappointment. No, if anything, Malfoy seems to hate him even more. He declines to even speak to Harry, preferring instead to stay shut up in his room with the door locked. The charm is a feeble one, and Harry could break it if he were so inclined, but he decides to let this pass.

He is forced to explain to Ron why he needed the bezoar, and as expected, Ron is properly horrified by this new information.

"Well, don't tell me where they're staying," he says, shaking his head. "I don't care enough about Malfoy to hold in the secret if someone gets hold of me and starts on torture. All that time with the Malfoys! Isn't having You-Know-Who after you bad enough?"

"I know it," Harry says. "I just wish I knew what the Malfoys are up to. They're trying to avoid Voldemort, but why? He got what he wanted. Dumbledore's dead." He pauses, but does not allow himself to sink into this bitter thought. "I bet Voldemort's pleased as punch about that, so Malfoy stands a good chance of staying alive. He let the Death Eaters in, after all."

"They're probably just playing it safe," Ron says.

"Yeah, but you didn't see Malfoy up on the tower," Harry says. "He could've killed Dumbledore loads of times, but he didn't. If the other Death Eaters hadn't come - if Snape hadn't come - What are they playing at?"

"Well, maybe it's like Hermione said. Killing people's a lot different from calling them bad names and tossing them up in the air."

Harry says nothing. He hasn't forgotten just how involved Mrs Malfoy was in Sirius's death.

"Anyway," Ron says breezily, "who do you reckon sent you the bad frogs?"

"Whoever it was wasn't very bright," Harry says. "Or else they weren't really trying. I'd have to be pretty thick to eat them."

\-----

Mrs Malfoy's attitude towards Harry becomes frosty at best. She still seems to blame him for having poisoned chocolate frogs sent to him, and claims that she never saw the card that came with it. Lupin arrives with a potion he says will help Malfoy, who is still constantly trembling and sweating. He does not come out of Malfoy's room for a long time.

"I'm afraid you've got a very stupid enemy out there, Harry," he says when he is finally done, "but that's nothing new, is it?"

"Maybe Voldemort's grown lazy and was hoping for a lucky break," Harry says, envisioning Voldemort carefully wrapping a box of frogs. "I wish I knew where the card was."

"Well, it can't have gone far," Lupin says. He goes upstairs and Harry follows. "Alohomora," he says to Malfoy's door, which unsurprisingly opens. "I gave him a sleeping draught. Out like a candle."

Malfoy looks rather thin and ragged in bed. His skin is a clammy white, and his hands look dirty. Lupin bravely rifles through Malfoy's robes, which are still stained with crusty vomit. "Aha, here we are. It seemed like Malfoy to pocket your correspondence." He unrolls a small roll of parchment and reads it. "Well, there's no signature, of course. Guess it was a bit smarmy to hope for that." He passes the parchment to Harry.

It feels as though a rock has fallen through Harry's stomach. The card does, in fact, wish him a happy Christmas and many more, but that isn't what bothers him.

"Recognise the writing?" Lupin asks.

"No," Harry lies.

"Oh, well. Just keep your eye on any letters you receive. Open anything odd with protective gloves. I wouldn't worry too much, though. Anyone who tried something like this won't be very dangerous."

"No," says Harry. "Probably not."

\-----

No luck, Harry. Never heard of her, and I can't find anything on her around the place, either. Of course, there's always the Department of Mysteries, but they're not very friendly with sharing information. I'll keep an ear out, though.

Harry was not expecting much from Mr Weasley, so this letter is not too disheartening. He scribbles his thanks on the back of Mr Weasley's note and sends it back with Hedwig. He goes downstairs and orders a bottle of butterbeer. He is, at last, the only person at the Hog's Head, and has been for a week. He has been avoiding the Malfoys, and no company is far better than theirs.

"Rough times, eh?" asks Abe.

"Slightly," says Harry.

"It's been worse," Abe says with a shrug. He cleans the dirt from under his fingernails with a fork.

Harry, feeling it would be a bit impolite at this point to turn around and go upstairs, sits at the bar. Something unpleasant drops from the bottom of his shoe.

"I don't reckon you've got any of your belongings back from Fletcher," Abe grunts after a moment's pause.

"How do you know about that?" Harry asks.

"It's funny how much you hear at a pub," he says, tapping a finger against his long, crooked nose. "But that's not how I know."

"Oh," Harry says. This seems like a pointless bit of information to share.

"If you've got a few galleons, I might be able to get some of it back for you."

"No, thanks. Nobody liked that stuff anyway. I just don't want Mundungus Fletcher nicking it."

"Not a bright lad, are you?"

Harry feels this is a bit presumptuous. "Well, how was I to know he'd be slimy enough to steal from me? I knew he was a thief but I thought he at least had some manners. We're on the same side."

Abe fixes him with a stony gaze, as usual giving Harry the weird impression that he has seen him somewhere before. "I mean, I'd do what I could to get my things back, if I were you. I used to have a brother who was a lot wiser than me, and he'd tell you that anything worth keeping's worth keeping."

"Thanks," Harry says politely. "I think I'll go back to my room now."

Abe rolls his eyes and waves him on.

\-----

Finally, Harry gets tired of the barman's cryptic and strange conversations. He decides to check in on the Malfoys and see if Malfoy has perhaps died. He has not, but it seems that the chocolate frog incident has at least drained him of any urge to speak out of turn. Ignoring Harry is normal, but he does not seem even to be talking to his mother, who has painted a particularly dark portrait of herself.

When Harry unlocks the spell on Malfoy's door, Malfoy only looks at him, but does not argue. Harry settles himself in a wooden chair and decides, after all, not to say what he was planning, but to say nothing.

Malfoy proves surprisingly willing to sit in this silence.

Finally, after nearly five minutes has passed, Harry draws a phial from the pocket of his robes. He holds it up for Malfoy. "I want to know what you're playing at, Malfoy. I've been helping you for weeks. You owe me."

"I won't drink that," Malfoy says.

"You're too weak to fight me off if I dump it down your throat," Harry says, and Malfoy doesn't disagree. "Why are you hiding from Voldemort?"

Malfoy flinches.

"There's no point in pretending," Harry says. "I saw you in the bathroom. I saw you on the tower. You couldn't kill Dumbledore. He was probably dying already, could you tell? He could barely stand."

Malfoy draws his lips into a thin line, but says nothing. Harry shrugs.

"You might as well just tell me what you're up to. I already know you're not very brave. 'He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!'"

This has the desired affect on Malfoy: his pale eyes glitter with anger and he sits up. "You shut up, Potter. You don't know what he's like."

Harry snorts.

"This whole thing is a joke," Malfoy says. "Yeah, that's right, he said he'd kill me. He said he'd kill my mother first. He said he'd know if I got someone else to do it. He thought I'd fail, and he'll know Snape did it instead. Why do you think I'm hiding from him?"

"I thought maybe you couldn't kill Dumbledore because you didn't want to," Harry says. "Maybe that's why you're hiding."

"And then Dumbledore," Malfoy sneers, but it isn't very convincing, "says he can protect me. Ha! He couldn't even protect himself."

Harry feels like he's just eaten something foul as he says, "Did you ever see anyone die before Dumbledore?"

"No," Malfoy says quietly.

"Did it look like you expected?" Harry thinks of Dumbledore's helpless fall from the tower, his body broken and spread-eagle at the bottom of it. No one, he thinks, could have ever expected Dumbledore to look like that.

"I didn't expect it to look like anything at all," Malfoy says angrily.

"I expect," Harry says coldly, "it looks much different if you're the one who did it."

"I didn't."

"Why? He was already weak. You had his wand. Everything worked out like you planned."

"I've already heard all this from Dumbledore," Malfoy says. "What do you want?"

"I want you to admit it!" Harry bellows. "Being a Death Eater wasn't everything you wanted it to be, was it? You thought you were just playing at being in charge and getting a bit of power, but you didn't think anyone would actually die, did you? You thought maybe being a Death Eater would be all hanging Muggles in the air and laughing, did you? Thought Voldemort -"

"STOP SAYING THAT NAME!" Malfoy screams.

"Thought Voldemort was really nice to his followers, that he'd give you presents and pats on the head?"

"SHUT UP!"

"I don't have time to sit around waiting to find out if you plan to kill me to get in with Voldemort again," Harry says, standing up. "If you're done with it, if you don't want to be a Death Eater, admit it, and I'll go on protecting you. I'll get more of the Order in on it. If you or your mum are just waiting to see if it's safe to go back, then I'll tell whoever you want where you are. I'm sick of waiting to find out. I've got other things to do."

"Why would I kill you?" Malfoy laughs a hollow laugh. "He doesn't want someone else to kill you. That would be stupid."

"Fine," Harry says. "I'll tell Parkinson where you are. Maybe while I'm at it I'll tell Nott, too. He's your friend, right?"

"Do whatever you want," Malfoy says.

Harry is filled with an overwhelming urge to shake him, to watch his head loll around on his skinny neck. The fact that he is wasting time on this when he could be finding Godric's Hollow is almost laughable due to how very ridiculous it is. "If you want to be as gormless as you act, fine. You're acting like you don't have a choice in any of this. Dumbledore gave you one. If you're going to turn your back on that, I honestly don't care, Malfoy. Do you think I want you on my side? I don't. I'm just trying to finish what Dumbledore started, but I'm starting to think he was almost as stupid to trust you as he was Snape. But you can't stay dead forever. Go join up with the Death Eaters again. You might as well if you're going to be this useless. I wonder, though, how long it'll take you to get used to killing people. Because you're going to have a lot to make up to Voldemort."

"I don't want to kill anyone," Malfoy says, and he looks like he's never hated anyone so much as he hates Harry in this moment. "Is that what you want me to say?"

"No," says Harry, pocketing the phial of water. "But it's good enough."

"You've no idea what he's like," Malfoy says again. "I didn't know - I wish my father were here."

Harry decides to let this pass. "What about your mum?"

"My mother is not a Death Eater," he says. "Not like she has a choice in the matter, anyway. He doesn't care. It's too late."

"It's not too late," Harry says fiercely. "Are you serious about this, Malfoy? I'll talk to the Order."

"I don't know," says Malfoy. "It's pointless."

Harry opens his mouth, but stops. It seems like he is asking a lot of Malfoy right now, he realises, and he has maybe pushed him too far. He wishes he could summon some of Dumbledore's ability to sound so firm and kind at the same time, but showing kindness toward Malfoy is difficult even with him in this state. He decides to leave well enough alone.

"I don't think you have to end up like Snape," Harry says. "Unless you want to. And Dumbledore didn't think you did. I don't think you do, either."

"I don't have a choice," Malfoy says. This is the most honest Harry has even seen Malfoy, and it's incredibly surreal.

"We'll see," says Harry.

\-----

"I don't know about this, Harry," says Ron. "Protecting Malfoy's one thing, at least we know he can't bring anyone over for tea to kill you. But going to all that trouble for him's another. He poisoned me, you know!"

"You're all right now," Hermione says neutrally.

"Well!"

"I'm not saying I trust him," says Harry. "I don't. I don't want anything more to do with him than I have to, but Dumbledore thought he could be kept from the Death Eaters. I think it's worth it if we can stop someone from joining Voldemort, even if it is Malfoy."

"I agree with Harry," says Hermione. "Malfoy's a slime, but if he doesn't want to be a Death Eater, I think we should do all we can to make sure that doesn't happen. We can't let people be bullied into becoming as bad as someone like - well, Lucius Malfoy."

"Lucius _Malfoy_," Ron points out. "His dad doesn't have a problem with killing anyone at all!"

"I know," says Harry. "I was there, too. But Lucius Malfoy is in Azkaban. I just think that Malfoy's not so far gone."

"Maybe," says Ron. "But he's never staying here, I'll tell you that."

Harry pauses for a moment to imagine Malfoy scrubbing potatoes for Mrs Weasley. "It'd be worth it just to torture him."

"And what about me?"

"Fair enough," says Harry.

\-----

If she knows why Harry has brought her to Lupin's, Hermione isn't letting on. Truthfully, Harry knows how very much it will annoy Malfoy, and an annoyed Malfoy is better than one that sits around all day without changing his robes.

"She wasn't much help," Hermione says, ignoring the burdened sighs coming from Malfoy down the hall. "She says there was a Tabitha Abernathy who worked at the Prophet, but she hasn't kept in touch and she resigned at least five years ago. Still, that means she must be alive, Harry."

"Assuming, that is, that she hasn't croaked of old age," Harry says.

"I'll try to get in touch with the editor of the Prophet next. They're bound to have some record of where she went afterward. Meanwhile, I think you ought to try getting down to the Museum of Magical History. It's near Wales, so it'll be a bit of a journey, but it's not difficult to find."

Harry shakes his head. "Voldemort likes a lot more fanfare than that. With the locket, it was in the middle of the lake and really easy to spot. He would've been a lot cleverer just to toss it in an old jewellery box, and no one ever would have found it. The museum's too common for him."

"Well," says Hermione, "at least we know you think more practically than Voldemort."

"At least someone thinks so. The barman at the Hog's Head's been staring at me like I'm an idiot lately. You'd think I was walking around with my robes on backwards, asking how to hold my wand properly."

"Aberforth's right, you know," Malfoy calls from his room.

Hermione shakes her head, but Harry's heart begins to pound. Without a word to Hermione, he sprints into Malfoy's room. "What did you say?"

"I said you're an idiot," Malfoy says half-heartedly.

"Not that," Harry says. "Who's Aberforth?"

"The barman," Malfoy says. "You really are thick."

"Harry, what's going on?" Hermione asks, entering the room.

"I've just realised something," Harry says, and he Apparates without explanation. Today the Hog's Head has one other patron, a wizard wearing a hat shaped like a rather ferocious house-elf. Pushing aside the urge to ask about this, Harry rushes to the bar. To his dismay, the barman isn't there.

"Hey! Hey, Aberforth!" Harry calls. The barkeep, his hair and beard long and grey and so familiar to Harry, appears from the larder. He looks disgruntled.

"What's it to you?" he asks. And now Harry can see it: the long, crooked nose, the glasses. The eyes aren't blue, and they don't have any of the same twinkle, but it's close enough to be more than a coincidence.

"You said that you knew where I could get some of my things from Mundungus," Harry says, trying to be patient. "Do you still know?"

"Ah, there he is," says Aberforth. "Wondered when you'd come around to that. As a matter of fact, I do. Bought some of 'em myself. They proved worthless, but I'd be willing to part with them for a few Galleons. Business is poor lately."

Harry isn't sure why it seems so important to get these Black family heirlooms back, but he feels sure that the barkeep would not have mentioned it in the first place if it weren't. He has to be on the right track this time. "How much?" He doesn't have much gold on him, but Diagon Alley isn't far.

"Ten Galleons for the lot," Aberforth says.

"Done," says Harry.

Aberforth gestures for Harry to follow him, and they go into a door that Harry has never noticed before. It leads to a filthy sitting room, and Harry realises this must be where Aberforth lives. He does not linger on this dismal idea. "You're Dumb -"

"Let's not get into that," says Aberforth. He opens a grimy cabinet mounted on the wall and pulls a drawer from it that is far too long to possibly fit into the cabinet. It's clearly been enchanted by some sort of magic, because he pulls it out nearly halfway across the room before he finds what he's looking for. "Ah, here we are. Well, it's not much, mind, but I reckon it's of more use to you than me."

He hands Harry a mirror that shows no reflection, a necklace that smells strongly of sulphur, and--Harry's heart catches in his throat--a locket. The locket is heavy and cold in his hand, and now he remembers seeing it in Sirius's house during the seemingly useless cleaning. He turns it over, hardly daring to hope, and there it is: an ornate S. He stares at it for a moment before he realises that Aberforth is, in turn, staring at him.

"The Galleons, lad," Aberforth says.

"Oh, right," says Harry, digging in his pocket. He hands Aberforth the money. There are a million questions he wants to ask--he doesn't know where to begin--and he has a feeling that this strange old man will answer none of them. "Thanks."

There is no twinkle to Aberforth's eye when he nods. "Always happy to make a bit of gold, Potter."Hermione is fuming when he returns. "Why didn't you just tell me what you were doing?"

"I didn't have time," Harry says airily, and he's so thrilled with his find that he grins.

"Are you sure this is the right one?"

"Positive," Harry says. The locket, as before, will not open. He thinks of Dumbledore's blackened hand and wonders what will happen when he manages to get it open.

"I don't even know where to begin destroying it," Hermione says. "With all you've told me of finding the fake Horcrux, I can't begin to imagine what sort of enchantments must be on this to keep it from being opened. How do you open something when you don't know what's sealed it?"

"I don't suppose smashing it would be of use," Harry says, picking it up to slam on the table.

"Harry, don't!" Hermione says. "You saw what the ring did to Dumbledore--who knows what that will do to you if you try to physically destroy it?"

Harry carefully puts it down.

"Well, one thing's for sure," Hermione says finally.  
"What's that?"

"This R.A.B., whoever she was, never managed to open it. She may have even died after she found it. I wonder how it came to be at Sirius's house."

"Why do you always think it's a witch?"

Over the course of an hour, Hermione tries as many unlocking spells she can think of, Harry bracing himself for some sort of explosion each time, but they have no luck and finally Hermione has to return to her house or her parents, with no means of contacting their daughter quickly, will begin to worry.

"I haven't told them the full extent of what's going on," she says, "but they're rather clever."

"They would be," Harry says, and she beams.

"Let me know right away if you think of something else," she tells him. "You're really getting somewhere, Harry. I know we'll figure this out."

Harry is in such a good mood that even Malfoy is unable to ruin it. Since their confrontation the other day, Malfoy has taken to pretending it didn't happen. He tosses insults at Harry without much force behind them, and Harry, despite being raised by the Dursleys, has good manners and feels it is only considerate to toss the insults right back at him. There's no point in acting like anything between them has changed, because it hasn't. Despite the fact that Dumbledore was misguided enough to trust Snape, something in Malfoy's voice on the tower gave him away long ago, and Harry has always suspected deep down that Malfoy could not turn into a killer.

"Now you've got two lockets," Malfoy says, walking past the room Harry has inhabited. "It's nice to know you're working so hard at buying jewellery while the world expects you to save it."

"I've spoken to Tonks," Harry says, not looking up from the locket.

"I don't know who that is," says Malfoy.

"She's an Auror," says Harry. "She's part of the Order of the Phoenix. She's also a Metamorphmagus."

"If you think I can become one, you're an idiot."

"No bigger one than you are," Harry says lightly. "Only she knows a bit about disguising yourself even if you aren't born able to do it so easily. She says there might be a way we can make sure no one knows who you or your mum are, so you can leave the house."

"I don't think a hat will help," Malfoy says.

"Really? Because that's just what it was." Harry slips the locket into its pocket and it clicks against the fake Horcrux. "I've also spoken to a few other members of the Order, and they're willing to trust you."

"If you think I'm going to join your little army -"

"If you think I'd let you, you're thicker than you let on. No, Malfoy, I'm not inviting you to join up. I'm just telling you they'd be willing to help, and I think you should be grateful. Greyback nearly killed one of the Weasleys, you know, and no one's forgotten that."

"I didn't know he was going to be there!"

"Anyway, I think you'd have a better time of it with more of the Order helping you. We could move you around, and plenty of the Order could find a way to find out whether or not Voldemort knows you're alive."

"How?"

"You don't think the Death Eaters are such a huge secret, do you? What are you doing?"

Malfoy is scratching his arm, and Harry is surprised it hasn't started bleeding.

"It itches," Malfoy says.

"Do you need a new bandage?"

"No," he says. "It's just been that way since it started healing more. I barely need the bandage anymore."

"Oh," says Harry, not wanting to press. He presses anyway. "How's the healing going?"

"Fine," Malfoy says shortly, clearly not wanting to share with Harry. This is just fine with him.

"I'll let you know if we come up with a new plan," Harry tells him.

"Fine. You do that." Maybe he is imagining it, but Malfoy sounds a bit more convinced underneath the contempt.

Harry returns to his locket. He has made no progress at all, but just seeing the engraved S fills him with more hope than he has felt in a long time.

\-----

Lupin does not ask Harry what the locket is when he shows him.

"Well, without knowing all the details, it's hard to say what could have been used," he says. "If you'd like, I can give it to Moody, see if he's got any dark detectors that might be of help."

"No," Harry says firmly. "I don't want this going to the rest of the Order."

Lupin nods. "Have you tried fire?"

"I haven't tried anything. I'm not sure how it'll react."

"It's just a locket, Harry. Regardless of what magical properties it has, you should still be able to destroy it. You may be overthinking things."

Privately, Harry thinks this is a bit naive, but then, Lupin doesn't know that he's holding a piece of Voldemort's soul.

\-----

Harry is up past midnight, mentally drilling a hole into the Horcrux. If Ginny were here, she'd probably smash it with her foot and have done with it. Professor Dumbledore, he suspects, would be able to feel whatever magic has gone into it just by touching it. He wishes Dumbledore had thought to pass this bit of knowledge on before they went through the cave, but feels guilty for thinking it.

"There has to be a way," Harry says aloud, slamming his fist on the table in place of the Horcrux.

Someone swears down the hall. Considering that there are only two other people in the house and one of them is a woman, Harry has a pretty good idea that Malfoy is still awake. He moves to the doorway and listens, still carrying Slytherin's locket. Malfoy seems to be moving around a lot more than usual. Harry takes his Invisibility Cloak from his pocket and moves quietly down the corridor.

Malfoy is packing. He has only a meagre amount of belongings here, but he's making a mess of fitting them into his rucksack nonetheless.

"What are you doing?" Harry asks.

Malfoy jumps, and Harry remembers his cloak. He takes it off.

"None of your business," says Malfoy.

"Is your mother going, too?"

Malfoy doesn't answer as he packs a particularly ugly pair of green trousers into his bag. He is no longer, Harry notices, wearing a bandage on his arm.

"Has something happened?"

"No," Malfoy says, lying badly.

"Oh, well, enjoy your excursion, then," Harry says. "Pick me up something from Honeydukes, will you?"

Malfoy pauses, but doesn't respond. Throwing all ration out the window, Harry quickly reaches out with his foot and sweeps Malfoy's legs out from under him.

"Come off it, Potter!" Malfoy says weakly, drawing his wand. Harry already has his out.

"I know what you're doing," Harry says. "It won't work. That's not the way to stop this."

Malfoy laughs from the floor in such a crazed way that Harry is reminded strongly of Barty Crouch, Jr. He points his wand directly at Malfoy's face. "I can't believe I'm saying this, Malfoy, but I'm not going to let you do it."

"You're not going to let me?" Malfoy sits up and leans his arms on his knees. "Please. I could have hexed you by now, Potter, but I can't be bothered. Just step aside so I can leave before my mother notices I'm gone."

"You don't have to -"

"Yes, I do!" Malfoy pushes up his sleeve, and there it is, visible even through the thick scab, what Harry was so sure before that he would see, and so sure now that he wouldn't. The Dark Mark burns brightly tonight; Voldemort has called his Death Eaters to his side. They both look at this in silence for a moment, until Malfoy stands and lets his sleeve fall. Harry puts his wand away. This is not what he was expecting at all.

"So that's it, then," Harry says finally.

"Yes, it is," says Malfoy.

"What are you going to tell him?"

"I'll figure that out when I get there," says Malfoy, closing his rucksack. "Maybe he'll be in a forgiving mood. I did get the Death Eaters in, after all. Surely that counts for something. Besides, Snape might put in a good word for me. And if he does kill me, at least my mother will be safe."

Harry says nothing. Privately, he feels that Dumbledore's death is likely to have kept Voldemort in a very forgiving mood indeed. He moves to sit on the bed, but it doesn't smell very pleasant. "You know, Dumbledore once told me it's our choices that make us who we are."

"And I made mine last year," Malfoy says flatly.

"You can still change your mind!"

"No, I can't!" Malfoy throws his rucksack on the floor. "You don't get it, Potter, do you? I can't get rid of it. I already made my choice. There's no going back on it. No matter where I go, he'll always know where I am. You think the world works out perfectly if you try hard enough. You think you can just worm your way out of anything. Maybe you can. The rest of us don't have the benefit of being the 'Chosen One.'"

"I know you sent the chocolate frogs," Harry says.

Malfoy says nothing.

"I know you don't want to do this!"

Malfoy puts his rucksack on and pushes up his sleeve again. "You keep an eye out for this, Potter. I imagine you'll be seeing it a lot." His voice shakes.

_"Petrificus -"_

Malfoy Apparates with a very final crack, and Harry is left pointing his wand at nothing. He flings the locket at the wall in disgust, and it breaks into two pieces when it hits the floor. Harry crouches and looks at it. The lid and the locket are now completely separate, and inside he sees a picture of a woman with crossed-eyes: Merope Gaunt. He moves to pick it up, and is hit in the face with a jet of red light. This lasts for only a few moments, and Harry quickly runs a hand over his face to make sure everything is still there.

The locket now looks tarnished and old as it is. He picks up the pieces, and they're considerably lighter than they once were. Lupin was right: at heart, it was still just a locket.


End file.
